When Dreams Start Looking Back at You

 Have you ever really believed in dreams? I don’t mean the fleeting ones that fade by morning, but those quiet, persistent dreams that live inside you, the ones that never quite die, even when you convince yourself to be realistic.

I’ve always thought of myself as a practical person, someone who doesn’t wait for luck or destiny. The type who believes that life is in our own hands, that if you want something, you have to go out and make it happen yourself. I used to think dreams were simply ambition with a prettier name.

But life has its own strange sense of humor. It pushes you, tests you, and just when you start thinking nothing will ever change, it surprises you.

For as long as I can remember, my “dream countries” were Greece and Russia. I used to imagine myself swimming through the turquoise waters of Greece, my skin warm from the sun, and then skating in Moscow, my nose turning red from the cold. Two completely different worlds, yet somehow both felt like home in my imagination.

And then, life quietly turned those daydreams into reality.

In September, I finally visited Greece. The sea was exactly as I had imagined it, soft, endless, peaceful. And just last week, I returned from Russia. Moscow, to be exact. I didn’t end up there by chance; I made it to the final of a competition, something that gave me the chance to step into a place I had only ever seen in photos.

It’s hard to explain what it feels like when something you’ve imagined for years suddenly becomes real. You stand there in the middle of it, and you realize that everything you’ve done, all the quiet effort, all the small hopes you never spoke out loud, somehow led you there.

Moscow amazed me beyond words. I don’t think any other city will ever leave quite the same mark on me. It’s enormous, powerful, full of life and motion. Standing in Red Square at night, surrounded by history and light, I felt both invisible and infinite at the same time.

That truth can either break you or build you. Some people crumble under it, others find new strength in it. I think I found mine.

And then there was the Tretyakov Gallery, a place that feels like a passage through time. Walking through it, you see centuries unfold before your eyes. Different eras, different people, different worlds, yet the same human emotions: love, pain, longing, joy, loss. The clothes and colors change, but the themes remain eternal. It’s impossible not to feel connected to all those lives that came before yours.

Coming back home after all that hasn’t been easy. Returning to daily obligations, to the same familiar routines, feels strange, almost like trying to fit back into a smaller version of yourself. After everything I saw and felt, normal life suddenly seems quieter, slower.

But maybe that’s what happens when you live your dreams, reality takes a little time to catch up.

Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because now I know that dreams aren’t random wishes. They’re promises you make to yourself, and if you keep believing, working, and staying open, life eventually keeps its end of the deal.

Dreams aren’t magic. They’re built. Brick by brick, word by word, day by day, sometimes when nobody is watching, sometimes when even you doubt that it’s worth it.

So, if you’re reading this and wondering whether dreams can come true, yes, they can. But they don’t arrive with fireworks or grand announcements. They show up quietly, one step at a time, until suddenly you look around and realize you’re standing inside one.

And maybe that’s what life really is, a long, unpredictable journey where the line between reality and dreams slowly disappears, until one day, you stop chasing and start living it.

Nena